Warmth
by Demons Dancer
Summary: "There's no reason why I shouldn't kill you this instant. But I'm a reasonable guy... So I have an assignment for you..."   Johnny/OC romance. Please R&R. Rating and title may change for language, gore, and -ahem- adult themes
1. Chapter 1

As always, stories like this are hard to start out. But, I believe once it gets going, the beginning will come. This is my first (posted) fanfiction, so be gentle~ Reviews are greatly welcome, to tell how I might improve~ And now, I offer the ever-popular words of Mark Twain...

_Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted. Persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished. Persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot. BY ORDER OF THE AUTHOR._

What a sight this was. Johnny C had to admit it. Some trashy club he'd stumbled upon, not his preffered choice, but it was overflowing with wastes of air and assholes. He didn't hesitate to hoist his old backpack and, with a disturbing smile, unleash his favorite weapons upon the unsuspecting goths and questionable older men this sewer was comprised of. Some (a lot, really, mostly screeching females) had tried to run. None had gotten close to the door. Such a beautiful sight... The still-warm corpses spattered with blood, organs and brain matter spilling everywhere. Overpowering the stench of alchohol, with an arguably more repulsive stench. "Well... at least I have plenty of 'paint' for the wall." The man chuckled lightly at his half-hearted joke.

Johnny C, Johnny the Homicial Maniac, Nny, and who knows what other names he'd been called during his life? (He didn't.) He had grown quite a reputation, one he was proud of. (Although there were _very_ few to testemate that fact.) Even without the looming threat of the Thing Behind the Wall (It's not a moose) breaking loose, Johnny would still continue his odd profession, his life's work, sans the restriction of having to bring back fresh blood to paint the wall. Yes, things would be much easier if the damned monster was gone. He sighed, and began the work of filling a bucket with hot crimson...

"Come on, honey, wanna take a ride with us? Ya look cold." Morgan glared icy blue daggers at the latest drunken idiot to leer at her. "Thanks, but no. Didn't mama ever teach you not to talk to strangers?" He grinned at her response. "Aw hon, my mama'd love ya. C'mon and let's meet her." She sighed, ignoring the wolf-whistles of his friends, tightening her dark coat around her and quickening her pace.

Her back to them, Morgan didn't see the group's expressions change, or the way they nodded at each other to follow. She froze at the footsteps behind her for a moment, then turned with a level stare. "I'm not interested. Now go away and hit on someone else. Now." The men chuckled, and the first one spoke. "Fiesty, arent'cha? Just like that face of yours. Maybe I like a challenge, babe." She heard a round of whistles and cheers, and someone say "You tell 'er, Brian!"

Brian, aparently, had gotten bolder. He caught up with her in a few strides and grabbed at her shoulders. Missed. She broke into a run, and bumped into someone. Tripped. She hit the ground on her hands and knees, wincing, trying to scramble back up and run again, when a new voice spoke up. "Aren't you going to apologize? For running into me, I mean." She looked up at the man who had said that. He was tall, and extremely thin. His face was thin and pinched-looking, with a messy head of dark hair. "I-I'm sorry for bumping into you, but I- those guys were after me" she stammered. Brian and his friends had caught up to her, and the man turned to face him, even as he was speaking to her.

"That's no excuse for a lack of common courtesy. But at least you apologized. These guys, on the other hand..." He smirked, and it sent chills down her spine. "A pack of irritating fuckers chasing a little girl. Sickening. I might just get a lot of extra material." Apparently her pursuers hadn't gotten the message, and Brian and his right-hand man stepped forward with stupid grins of their own. "You wanna fight, Freaky Dude? That's my girl, and I don't appreciate you trying to steal a piece of ass away from me." She tensed, and spat out viciously "A piece of ass? You're a freaking stalker, asshole!" Her defender's smirk had widened, just a bit. "Yes... Couldn't have said it better myself." With that, he slung a ratty-looking backpack from his shoulder and began digging inside it, almost leisurely. With a small sound of satisfaction, his face changed. It became like a mask of ice, if ice was completely crazy. His smile was thouroughly disturbing, as he pulled out a wickedly sharp knife.

"Ah, the classics..." he murmured softly, flicking his eyes to the girl he apparently defended. Morgan swallowed, unable to take her eyes off the knife. Apparently, neither could her would-be captors. The man made a swift lunging motion, and with a scream, Brian fell, clutching wildly at his throat spilling crimson. Morgan could hardly supress a scream herself. The man just laughed.

"Now, who's next?"

He stepped over the body and made way for the other men, who had finally gotten the message and started running. For being so skinny, he was truly fast. The girl could only stare, in horror, yes, but she felt glad they were dying. Hey body was shaking, blood roared in her ears, and she barely managed a soft "thank you" before sinking to the ground in a dead faint.

"My my..."

Johnny said disapprovingly. "That wasn't very smart. Well... now what do I do?" he pondered for a moment, then sighed. "Looks like it's another one for the basement. She _did_ spill some of the blood I collected, I guess."

Balancing the now-fresh buckets of blood, he gripped the slight young woman by her waist and carried her like a sack of rice.

"Now then... Time to prepare for when she wakes up..." Footsteps could be heard, and someone whistling Ode to Joy, making its way to a certain 777...

_**~END~**_

A/N: Well... what did you think? . I'm not too terribly good with being in-character so forgive me on that... But it wasn't too torturous, was it? Reviews are love~ However, senseless flames shall be used to roast Justic Bieber posters. ... Wait no, stratch that. You people'll be flaming like mad. Let's just go with the cliche marshmallow line.


	2. Chapter 2

When Morgan finally came around, the first thing her senses picked up was the fact she was chained up. On a wall. What the _hell?_ The next thing was the sound of someone screaming, loudly, agonizingly. She remembered thinking how damned _annoying_ it sounded, but she would never have admitted it. Because good people don't find the sounds of death and agony simply _annoying_. And she was good. Or she liked to think. Yes, so annoying... Multiple voices screaming death in her ears; but the worst part is when they just _stopped_.

"Huh. Guess you're awake." A new voice remarked. "Well, don't be rude. Open your eyes." And that voice was familiar to her, now. Did he do this...? That man? She struggled to open heavy lidded eyes to stare at her savior-turned-captor. She saw how he was coated and splattered in red. It was fresh. "Oh, this." he quickly checked his shirt and his expression turned to disgust. "This is what I hate about the job. All these fucking bodily fluids. This is my Sunday shirt, too!" His laugh was humorless. Obviously, this man didn't do much church-going.

"So, now that we're past that, time for introductions. I'm Johnny, but you can call me Nny for short." She blinked. Wasn't that already short...? "WELL? Are you going to say your name or what?" He half-shouted, seeming agitated. She could tell he didn't have much patience. Or any patience. She stuttered, but finally got out her name.

He smiled, pleasant again. "Morgan, huh. Morgan, Morgan, Morgan..." he toyed with the name for a moment. "Well, how about I carve your name into your skin? Yes, that sounds like a wonderful idea. Your last name, too. Wouldn't want you forgetting it, like I did. Be happy, little Morgan. I'm doing you a service." He laughed again, and it was grating on her ears. He picked up a blood-coated knife and advanced on her with a wicked grin. She started screaming, too, and tried kicking, punching, _anything_ to get him away, but the chains still restrained her. He tugged up her shirt a bit, and growled. "Stop squirming, or I might kill you." She quieted, but her breath still hitched. He pulled at her shirt a bit more, exposing her side. "Hm..." he paused. "How should I go about this? Pretty script for pretty skin. Hehehe. Details. Maybe a little bunny. What do you think?" He looked up at her, almost considerately. She swallowed, and began shakily. "You want to know what I THINK?" He nodded, irritated. "Yes, that's what I just said! Now give me a fucking answer already." She glared daggers at him.

"You want to know what I think? I _think_ you're an insane psychopath with nothing better to do than kill people! For no good reason other than they _irritated you?_ You just-" He cut her off, looking bored. "If you want to insult me, you'll have to do better than that. I've heard far worse from lower pieces of shit than you, and you're just stating the obvious." She sat back, not resisting against the chains, incredulous. No reaction whatsoever, other than boredom. Johnny raised the knife, and made the first cut...

It wasn't as painful as she thought it would be. Her skin burned where the knife made its mark, but she knew it could've made it a lot worse, had he wanted to. He wasn't quick about it, though; staring at her skin like a canvas, the knife his brush, the blood his paint. The only time he spoke afterward was to ask for her last name, and waited for minutes before she gave in and told him. Maybe if she just did what he wanted, he'd let her go-... God, what kind of joke was that? When some of the screams died down, he paused in his work to freshen their pain and a new batch of agonized death cries rocked her body. She just squeezed her eyes tight and gritted her teeth as he went back to his work, shutting out the noise, concentrating on the pain in her side. Finally, there was a metallic thunk on the basement ground, and Nny had stepped back to admire his handiwork. She craned her sore neck to see, too.

It was in a jagged script, Morgan Chase. As promised, a little bunny with X's for eyes was drawn into the O. It looked almost dead... "That's Nailbunny." he had said proudly. "He's on the wall upstairs. Although..." he added slyly. "It's not as if you'll ever see the upstairs." Her breath froze, and she said tiredly. "Does that mean you're going to kill me?" He thought for a moment. "Hell, I kill everyone eventually. It's just a matter of when, Morgan." With that, he suddenly turned, and climbed the stairs to the upper level.

"W-wait... You're just going to leave me?" she cried out. He paused, and turned his head to give her a bland stare. "Oh, don't worry. I'll be back to get you soon." With a cackle, he was gone. Just like a cheap B-movie villain, she thought incredulously. She began working at the chains, twisting this way and that, trying to slip _something_ out-

"That won't do you much good, girl." someone spoke quietly. She whipped her head around to see a middle-aged man in a blood-stained suit, hanging from a mounted pole like a captured animal. She felt horror wash through her, but he still appeared calm. "I've been here for a while, girl. And I know what that man will do. Just look at the way he has us all bound, without even a whiff getting to the police. I've seen him kill many people with my own eyes, and there was undoubtedly many more before me. I'm sure I'll meet my end here, soon, too." At this, he gave a small laugh, then coughed. " I suppose I shouldn't be too morbid... But you're in danger here, honey. Those chains are damned near impossible to wriggle out of unless you're a snake or have they key. Neither of which are going to come true very soon." He looked at her doubtfully. She shook her head and pushed everything else away, trying for a bright smile. He wasn't fooled.

"Honey, don't try to fake it. You're in Hell now, it's okay to scream or cry or whatever you have to do." He seemed kind... She wondered what he could've done to be dragged here like this. As if reading her mind, he gave a hollow laugh and his expression became blank. "You might think I'm kind now, girl, but I wasn't always this way. Being here has given me a lot of time to reflect on myself and try working things out. Lot of good it'll do now, huh?" He twisted his head to get a look at the still-bleeding name-tag on her torso. "Morgan, hm...? That's a very nice name, hon. It means Bright Sea, right?" Seeing her expression, he smiled good-naturedly once more. "I'm sort of a name enthusiast. Mine means Heard By God. Samuel. Well... if only God could hear me now." She noticed he talked a lot about being here... Maybe that's all there was to talk about in this place... Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud creak of the door opening, and heavy steps coming down the stairs.

"Well... What have we, here? Chatty, aren't you?" Johnny observed. "Why don't I just cut out that wiggling tongue of yours? I've let you live for too long, anyways. It's about time the wall gets your blood." He strode over to Samuel, knife in hand, and grabbed a hook of the wall next to him. An ice-cold rock had dropped into Morgan's stomach as she watched him pry open the man's mouth with the hook, she heard him screaming, terrified. She couldn't watch anymore, she squeezed her eyes shut tightly, trying to drown out the screams, and worse, when all he could manage was a garbled moan of agony... She heard a wet _splat_ and something dripping into a bucket. Johnny chuckled. "Well... one down." The clicks of steel-toed boots approached her, and she gritted her teeth, shutting her eyes even tighter, until he said quietly. "Look at me." She shook her head until he roughly grabbed her chin and forced it up.

"Listen... There is no reason I shouldn't kill you right here and now. But hell, I'm a reasonable guy. So... I have an assignment for you. If you don't want to die right this instant, I suggest you comply." The still-wet knife glittered dangerously in his hand. She swallowed hard, then nodded. Morgan hadn't said a word since he had left the basement before. He stepped back for a moment and studied her, just like he was when he considered how to cut her. Except this time, he was looking at her face, not her torso.

"Be grateful, little Morgan. Normally I wouldn't offer anything of this sort. Which is why, the second you make a wrong move, you're going to die. Do you understand?" After another nod, he continued. "That damn wall has become more and more demanding over the years. Even I've realized I can't handle it if it needs even more blood than usual. Which is why I'm willing to offer you a deal."

She opened her mouth, just a bit, but thought better of speaking. He glared at her, irritated. "What is it? If you've got something to say, _say it_." She shook her head and motioned for him to continue. He frowned. "Fuck, it's not like _you're_ the one that got their tongue cut out." He shrugged, but spoke again.

"What I want is for you to become my partner. You're helping me find people to feed the wall."

* * *

_**A/N: Ooooh, what will happen next? . Sorry for the wait, you guys . I've just been trying to focus on Kuroshitsuji Oneshots and all that... Gomen~ Hope you enjoyed~ Review and tell me what you think ^^**_


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